


Tovarisch

by FastestKeyboardTyperInTheWest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, TV series references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 03:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FastestKeyboardTyperInTheWest/pseuds/FastestKeyboardTyperInTheWest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon called him Peril, and Illya called him Cowboy. That’s how it went. </p><p>Or, a guy needs more than one nickname.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tovarisch

Napoleon called him Peril, and Illya called him Cowboy. That’s how it went. That was what they used when teasing, or in the heat of the moment when tense, or when trying to rouse the other from a drug induced stupor. Gaby smiled at it or rolled her eyes, depending on the mood, but they saw her less now that she was working with Dancer and Slate establishing overseas UNCLE. On their own, though, having completed a number of missions, and formed a surprisingly solid partnership, the nicknames had stuck nicely and formed a tough, plasticy glue of a bond.

Well, Illya thought so, anyway.

Napoleon didn’t, apparently, because when relaxing after The Goldami Affair, during which both had come within an inch of being stabbed, Solo started pouring out the drinks. They were sharing a room, under the cover of being close friends travelling through Europe, and Illya had his chessboard, and Solo his loosened tie, and the easy talk that came from a relaxed partnership started flowing. And as Napoleon passed him a brandy, and let loose that charming, toothy smile, he said ‘Tovarisch, I think we can call that a job well done.’

Illya froze internally, a bit of surprise and even stranger a little lust appearing as Solo lingered on that wholly Russian, beautifully pronounced word. It was a very, very good word that made Napoleon’s mouth form interesting shapes and was followed by an almost tentative smile that held back on the watts but not on the warmth.

‘Tovarisch?’ Illya asked, very slowly and carefully moving his king across the board.

‘Yeah, I thought the peril thing was getting a bit old, you know, and well, it fits.’ said Napoleon, animatedly talking with his hands and with a bit of nervousness creeping into his liqueur voice.

Yes, thought Illya, it fitted. It fitted with his Communism, and his nation, and it was certainly mocking him and the political system that he still supported. It should have made him angry, made him tip over a table because he did not like being mocked, not about Russia, and certainly not by Napoleon, not so into their partnership.

And yet it was because they were partners, and because Napoleon didn’t treat him just as the Russian, like some at UNCLE had done, that he found himself smiling a little- even at the lightly mocking edge, at its good faith and teasing undertone.

‘Yes, cowboy. It is good.’ Napoleon smiled at him beamingly, before launching into the details of his latest conquest- Illya rolled his eyes at him, of course.

And he didn’t call him Peril much after that.


End file.
